“Airline ticket?” I ask, my heart in my throat.
“Oh! Yes, silly me, look at me rambling here. We need you to fly out and meet with us to sign the official contract, of course.”
My heart is beating a thousand miles a minute and my entire body is hot like a flame.
They want me.
This is it! This is my fucking shot!
“Of course. When, uh…” I look around my room for a pen and paper, flying out of bed when I spot one on the desk. “When is the flight?”
“Since we were trying to contact you earlier this week, the ticket is set for this afternoon. Flight 56D1 out of Norfolk. I will—”
“This afternoon?” My blood freezes. I look at the clock. It’s barely eight fifteen.
“Yes, Mr. Brewer, the flight is set to depart at two pm.”
That’s in six fucking hours.
Norfolk’s a good two hours from here with traffic. Which means I need to leave…
I suck in a breath. “There’s no way to change the flight?”
“No, unfortunately. It is the only available flight today, and the deadline for this offer is tonight, Mr. Brewer. I understand you’ve had personal matters, but wehave followed our contractor’s obligation to keep the offer on the table for one week before it will be closed and offered to someone else. I hope you understand.”
I close my eyes, knowing it’s now or never.
This might be my only shot. I’ve waited my whole life for this—to be able to play professionally. Yeah, it’s not the NHL, but it’s the Jungle—the AHL—which means one day Icouldpotentially get on a national team if I take this opportunity and work my fucking ass off.
It also means I’m going to have to move to Pennsylvania.
But this is what I wanted. This…
This isallI’ve ever wanted—and it seems it’s all that’s ever wanted me.
“Can you email me the ticket?” I ask.
“Yes, I can certainly forward it to you,” she says happily.
“That would be great, thanks,” I say.
“I’ll arrange for someone to pick you up once you land, and I’ll set up lodging for while we finalize everything.”
“Great,” I choke out, emotion clogging my throat.
“Alright then, I will be in touch once I’ve got the confirmations for those. We ask that while negotiations are taking place, you keep any and everything regarding said negotiations quiet until we make an official announcement, of course.”
“Of course,” I say.
“Welcome to the Rioters, Mr. Brewer,” she coos. “Unofficially, of course, but we’re so excited to have you.”
“Thanks, Caroline,” I say as the line goes dead.
There’s a moment of pause before the truth sinks in. I made it.
I fucking made it!
“Fuck yeah, baby!” I scream, kicking my legs like a damn kid on Christmas morning.
